


Those Nights

by Ronja



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Hijacked Peeta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronja/pseuds/Ronja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some parts of the hijacking never go away. One part Peeta never tells Katniss about - the demons that haunt him sometimes at night. Peeta-POV set pre-epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I know I shouldn't be writing mini-fics or any other form of stand-alones (mostly I should be replying to the comments I still haven't had time to respond to!) but this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave until I wrote it down. It's short and touches on ideas I've put in my stories in the past but I think it turned out okay enough.

The demons come at night.

The sneaky, treacherous ones that are harder to fend off. The grips of insanity that sometimes take a hold of me during the day, they give some form of warning, and after so many years I've learned to see the signs. I can grab on to something to steady myself, I can prepare myself for what is about to happen, and if Katniss is there she can help me come back to what is real. But these thoughts? They are the unseen part of the hijacking and the ones I hate the most. They only come during the nights, when I can't sleep, or when I've woken from a bad dream. The ones that make me doubt myself and my worth, and worse – that make me doubt my Katniss. That is what they are designed to do. And it's so much harder to keep this part at arm's length because they come slipping in quietly and discreetly and take hold, engaging my emotions and my rationality in a way that's hard to explain. I can't stop it from happening because I'm already in the midst of it before I'm aware it has begun. And once it has begun there's little to do but to ride it out, wait for morning, wait for my mind and heart to become my own again.

All these years and some nights my mind, heart and – I fear – soul still belong to President Snow.

Katniss doesn't know. I haven't seen any reason to tell her. It would only hurt her and there's nothing she can do about it anyway. These are my demons, and I have to be the one who fights them off. More importantly, I never want her to doubt me or feel insecure in our relationship. She doesn't deserve that. I want her to know nothing but love from me so that is all I will show her. These other parts, these demons of the night, they're not _me_ anyway. So why sadden her with them?

It is perhaps the loneliness that is the worst feeling on nights like these. How these demons make me feel so painfully alone even though my wife sleeps right beside me. I've been lonely at times in my life, I think everyone has, but I find it's so much more difficult to handle when you're not actually _alone_. To be lonely when somebody is with you just makes it all seem more palpable. I think that is what these voices want to achieve. They want to make me feel isolated from her, abandoned by her. These nights are an almost endless parade of any memory that could be skewered or interpreted as Katniss being selfish, Katniss not caring about me, Katniss putting everything but me first. It doesn't matter if there's any actual merit to those accusations, the mere implication is enough. Memories of times when she's been preoccupied with something and hasn't really paid attention when I talk to her. Memories of the days when she secludes herself and shuts me out, fighting her own demons. Memories of stupid things like when she's asked me to bake her something even when I'm exhausted and really not in the mood for it. It doesn't matter if it's something big or small, intentional or haphazard. If there is any way to interpret it as Katniss not really giving a damn and taking me for granted, these demons will grab hold of it and play it up for all it's worth.

And they never mention the other sides, the other moments. The times when Katniss didn't go out hunting despite perfect conditions because I could use an extra hand at the bakery. The many hours, if not weeks in total by now, she's spent massaging my stump, my foot, my shoulders, my neck, my back. The way she looks at anyone who has anything negative to say to or about me like she wants to kill them, painfully, right there on the spot. The moments that prove her love for me far outnumber any moments that could hold the tiniest shred of doubt, probably around a thousand-to-one, but none of that matters on nights like these. The demons simply won't let me remember or acknowledge those memories and I hate them for it. It's so unfair to her, the woman who would bend till she breaks for me, who looks at me in a way nobody else ever has, who loves me more than I ever thought anybody could. The woman who is my equal, my partner, the other half of me. The woman without whom there would be no point to anything.

I close my eyes hard and try to make the demons leave. Try to shut out their screaming voices, their nagging reminders. The voices are almost always the same – the voices of the so-called doctors who saw me as just the best treat ever from the boss, a project to test all their theories on, no need for any regard as to consent or any such nonsense. Sometimes, when they had worked on me for a while and I was a bit out of it, they would talk about me as if I wasn't even there, and they would congratulate each other on this glorious opportunity. For if they could make Peeta Mellark forget that he loves Katniss Everdeen then they could do anything. As much as I hated to, I guess I ended up proving them right. Now their voices won't ever leave for good, even after all these years trying to sully the most beautiful thing in my life.

_She doesn't love you. She doesn't respect you. You are nothing to her but means to an end. Oh, she sought you ought on the train during the Victory Tour? Selfishly using you to keep the nightmares at bay, but once the sun rose you were good for nothing_. _Why would she love you, anyway? Why would anyone?_

And those thoughts keep coming back. It doesn't matter that I know it's all lies. Not in the moments when these thoughts are all I can think about. The self-doubt, the insecurity, the feeling of being so alone… Those doctors should have congratulated themselves real good. I think they were more effective than they thought they would be.

Katniss stirs beside me in bed. She's awake. She's been awake for about half an hour but I haven't pretended to notice. I can't. Not while my mind is full of these disloyal thoughts about her. If she tries to get my attention I will acknowledge her, swallow back all the treacherous emotions the demons bring, and pretend like nothing is wrong. It's happened a few times over the years, mostly because she's woken up from a nightmare. I've held her, comforted her, pretended I'm the loving husband she deserves, and all the while the voices in my head have been sneering at how she's obviously using me, that she only keeps me around for times like that. Ludicrous thoughts – who would marry someone just to be comforted after a nightmare? Especially a person like Katniss, who wasn't sure she wanted to be married at all until she and I became something real.

Then I feel her dainty hand on my arm, followed by her lips pressing against the nape of my neck. I try with all my might not to tense up at the touch.

"You awake?" she whispers.

" _Well I am_ now," the unwelcome voice inside my head sneers, even though me being awake has nothing to do with her touch. I try my best to ignore the voice, placing my hand on top of hers. "Yeah."

"It's being… rowdy tonight," she says. "Would you mind? You always have such a calming effect…"

With a huff I shift, rolling over from my left side to my right while Katniss moves to lie on her back. She pulls the comforter down and lifts up her tank top, exposing her swollen belly to me. For a brief second I hesitate, not sure if I should do this with the demons raging through my mind. Then I hold my breath and place my hand on the bump, indeed feeling the unborn child moving around in there. I scoot further down until my mouth is level with the spot where the baby rests.

"Hey in there…" I mumble against Katniss' expanded skin. "What are you creating such a fuss about? It's the middle of the night. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"It seems to get a lot more active whenever _I_ try to sleep," Katniss says, and I can hear from the tone in her voice that she's smiling. Her hand nestles in my hair, massaging my scalp.

"I thought babies weren't supposed to keep you up all night until they were actually _born_. How come you're such an active night person, huh?"

There's a kick, right underneath my hand, and it brings a smile to my face. I feel my son or daughter move around in there but the movements do seem to be settling down a little. Truthfully I'm not sure if I have any effect on the active foetus in there or if Katniss just feels better when I'm hands-on involved but I press a kiss against the bump and rub my hand over it gently.

"It's calming down," says Katniss. She rarely refers to the baby as "he" or "she", still finding it a bit too intimidating. It brings a thought to my mind, one I've been wondering about from the moment she told me she was pregnant. I lift my head and look at her.

"Hey, Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

I hesitate. The voices in my head are screaming that it's no use, she will just lie to me, tell me what she thinks will serve her interest best. I swallow hard and push those voices away, for the sake of our unborn child if nothing else.

"What… What made you change your mind? What made you decide that you wanted to try having a baby after all?"

She smiles, chuckling slightly.

"You did," she explains, as if it were self-evident.

I can't stop from scowling.

"Katniss I haven't pressured you in any way. I haven't so much as _asked_ -"

"I know," she says. Her hands cradle my face, the same way they often do when I'm having one of my other attacks. Almost as if she knows. "I know you haven't. That's not really who you are, is it? The person who would beg and nag for kids when your wife doesn't know where she stands?" Her thumb brushes my cheek. "But I know you. I know you want kids, badly. And I want to do this for you. And… And I figure, if we're in this together, how scary can it be? And who, in their right mind, would try and do any harm to the son or daughter of Peeta and Katniss Mellark? And… somebody, some day, should be able to say they are a descendant of yours. You should get to play not just with other people's kids but with _your_ kid, and your grandkids someday. I want that for you. I know you'll make a great dad. And with your help, I might be a pretty decent mom, too."

I feel another movement underneath my palm. The strangest thing happens then, as Katniss' words sink in. The demons in my mind can crow all they want – there is nothing they can say, no argument they can make, that can convincingly cover the truth. A few months from now Katniss is going to give birth to our child – our son or daughter. There is no personal gain in that for her. It's not something she's been aspiring to all this time. I'm not a glorified sperm donor. Katniss has been uncertain about having children for the longest time. She could probably have been happy her whole life without having them. Yet here she is, pregnant. For me. Because _I_ want children. Her words could be lies but the baby itself is proof. She wouldn't have done this for herself, wouldn't have woken up one morning and decided she craved motherhood. There would have had to be some additional incentive, and that incentive could only be me. She's doing this for me – for _us_. And with that realization, the voices finally seem to fade away. Not that I expect them to be gone for good, but on this night they won't be back.

I move up my wife's body, rest my hand on her cheek and give her a passionate kiss that seems to take her by surprise. She laughs a little but welcomes my mouth, moving her hands downward to wrap around me. I kiss her again and again until I'm breathless and then I rest my head beside hers, my hand travelling down to caress her pregnant belly once again. I feel her shift a little to her side and she nuzzles against me, making a content sound in the back of her throat.

"It will all be okay," she whispers.

I nod. Despite everything I believe her.

"It will be okay," I echo back to her. "We have each other. And the baby."

"Yeah…" There's a pause. "I think it's a daughter. She responds so well to you."

I find myself chortling softly.

"Maybe. A few more months and we'll know for sure…"

I close my eyes, no longer feeling desolate and lonely. I'm with my wife, with my _family_. And the truth is, Snow didn't win. Not even a little bit. Because despite his best efforts here I am, snuggled up to Katniss, our child growing inside of her, soon to be born to live a life of freedom and opportunity and absolutely no Hunger Games.

The demons might never go away entirely but at the end of the day, they can't put up much of a fight against Katniss.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not one of those people who believe babies make everything better and/or fix every problem, but this is one situation I think the arrival of the first toastbaby could improve upon quite a lot =)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts.


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